


Think of a white horse

by Phreakycat



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Folk Remedies, Getting Together, Hiccups, Humor, Idiots in Love, M/M, bordering on crack, buddie, sloths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 11:01:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29591799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phreakycat/pseuds/Phreakycat
Summary: Buck has the hiccups, the rest of the 118 have ideas, and Eddie (ultimately) has the solution.
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz
Comments: 23
Kudos: 599





	Think of a white horse

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this written for MONTHS, and Toughpaperround kindly beta'd for me, and then I just never got around to posting it. Better late than never? Title is from my Nana's go-to hiccup cure, which is to try to think of the last time you saw a white horse.

_____

“Picture a green cow, grazing in a blue field,” Bobby says.

“No, no, no - you need to picture the last time you saw a white horse,” Chim insists.

Eddie pauses halfway into the kitchen, wondering exactly what variety of bullshit he’s walking into this time. He’s afraid to ask, but-

“Uh, what are you guys talking about?”

“I’ve -  _ ick _ \- got the hiccups,” Buck mumbles miserably from where he’s slumped at the table. His head is buried in his arms so that Eddie can only see the tops of his curls, nestled between those impressive biceps. “They - _ ick _ \- won’t stop. And now all I can think about is unnaturally colored livestock.”

“White horses aren’t unnaturally colored,” Chim says, “but seriously, when was the last time you saw one?”

“We live in Los Angeles, Chim, how often do  _ you _ see horses?”

“Good point,” Chim concedes, “too bad, that trick always works.”

“Try the cow thing,” Bobby says. Buck moans and hiccups again. 

“Aren’t you sup- _ ick _ -posed to be medical professionals?” Buck whines, picking his head up to glare at Bobby. His expression reminds Eddie of Chris’ face when he tells his son he can’t have his way. “Isn’t there, like, a scientif- _ ick _ cure?”

“Just time, kid,” Bobby laughs, patting him on the shoulder. Buck sighs and his head thumps back down onto the table, shoulders slumping. “Don’t worry, they’ll stop soon.”

__

They don’t stop. 

“This is how I die,” Buck declares two hours later, flopping dramatically onto the couch. He throws one arm over his eyes, long legs stretched out along the cushions. Eddie’s not sure how the cheap fabric of their uniform pants manage to contain Buck’s thighs - it defies the laws of nature and physics, and Eddie would be lying if he said it didn’t break his brain a little every time Buck squats or bends and the fabric holds. 

It’s been an unnaturally slow morning (not that anyone would dare voice that to the universe) and Buck’s dilemma has become a sort of entertainment for the team.

“My diaphragm is going to - _ ick _ \- give out and I’ll suffocate while you all stand idly by,” Buck insists. 

“Actually in Japanese culture, some people believe that if you hiccup one hundred times in a row it means you’re going to die soon,” Chim says, sprawled on an armchair and leafing through the copy of  _ High Times _ someone jokingly left in the lounge after the dosed brownie incident. 

Hen smacks him in the back of the head.

“Boy I  _ know  _ you’re not tempting fate with that kind of shit,” she says, “Buckaroo here is already a walking, talking ad for a good life insurance policy. Don’t even joke.”

“I thought you were - _ ick _ \- Korean?” Buck says with a glare.

“I am. Doesn’t mean I can’t educate myself on other people’s customs. It’s called diversifying your world view. You should try it, you uncultured swine.”

Eddie rolls his eyes at them all, feet kicked up on the coffee table as he watches his team bicker. 

“Okay, listen - I didn’t want to have to resort to this because it can be kind of gross, but my Auntie Nora has a trick that actually works,” Hen declares.

Buck picks his head up, face endearingly hopeful.

“You have to get up, spin around seven times, and then spit over your shoulder.”

“No way that works,” Chim laughs.

“Don’t -ick- care,” Buck declares, already getting to his feet, “I’ll try any- _ ick _ -thing.”

“Bet you twenty bucks it does,” Hen challenges Chim, crossing her arms and arching a brow at him.

“You’re on,” Chim agrees, “and when it doesn’t work -  _ which it won’t  _ \- we go double or nothing that the next thing I try does it.”

“You guys are  _ betting _ on my life?” Buck says, blue eyes wide with betrayal.

“Hush Buckaroo,” Hen says, waving a dismissive hand, “and start spinning. Mama needs a new pair of shoes.”

“I feel like a human roulette wheel,” Buck mumbles, spinning slowly.

Hen counts the rotations, and when he’s gone around seven times she says, “Okay, now you spit over your shoulder.”

Buck grimaces, but shrugs and turns his head to spit. 

Just as Bobby walks up behind him.

“Buck, wait-” Eddie tries to warn him, too late. 

There’s a moment where everything stops, like some comically tragic tableau. Hen and Chim are trying to muffle their laughter, and Buck’s expression is one of horrified realization. Bobby’s face is frozen in a mix of shock and disgust as Buck’s saliva trails slowly down his cheek.

Buck opens his mouth to speak, closes it, tries again and manages only to let loose a ridiculously loud hiccup that sounds like someone stepping on a goose. 

Hen and Chim lose it, and Buck flushes bright red.

“Cap-” Eddie tries, feeling the need to rescue his hapless friend.

“No,” Bobby says, holding up a hand, “I don’t even want to know.”

“I’m  _ so _ sorry, Cap!” Buck cries.

“Children,” Bobby mutters as he walks away, “I work with  _ children _ .”

__

Eddie is helping Hen wash the truck an hour later, when he hears Buck yell in a way that can only be described as shrilly terrified.

Dropping his sponge he takes off running, doing a mental catalog of the myriad ways Buck might manage to critically injure himself in a firestation (Jesus,  _ fuck _ why do they have to have so many axes here?). Skidding around the truck, he finds Buck on his ass at the rear of the ambulance, staring up at… what the  _ fuck? _

Chim is standing in the open doors of the ambulance, laughing breathlessly and holding a… sloth mask?

“What the - _ ick _ \- HELL, Chim?” Buck yells.

“Aw, shit, it didn’t work,” Chim says, still laughing as he holds up his phone and snaps a pic, “still worth it though.”

“What happened?” Eddie asks, helping Buck up off the floor. Buck glares at Chim and jabs an accusing finger in his direction.

“ _ This _ asshole thought he’d scare the hiccups out of me by jumping out of the ambul- _ ick _ -ance!”

“Hey, I’m just trying to help,” Chim says, the liar. 

“In a sloth mask?” Eddie asks, looking between them, confused.

“Buck here is afraid of sloths,” Chim says smugly.

“I’m not  _ afraid _ of them, I just - _ ick _ \- don’t trust them,” Buck pouts.

Hen snorts from behind Eddie, and Buck whirls on her. “I told you that in  _ confi-ick-dence _ , Hen!”

“Sorry,” Hen shrugs, wincing, “I’d had a few margaritas and tequila makes me chatty, and then Chim pulled out that Kirsten Bell sloth video and it just kinda… slipped out.”

“Sloths?” Eddie says incredulously, “Really?”

“Have you seen their claws?” Buck shouts, arms thrown wide, “They’re fu- _ ick _ -cking huge. And they’ve got these soulless eyes, and they like,  _ smirk _ at you.”

“They’re basically the slowest land mammal in existence,” Chim cackles.

“That’s what they - _ ick _ \- want you to think,” Buck mumbles petulantly, lower lip now in full pout. “Did you know that they piss all over themselves? Huh? Not so cute now, are they?”

“How the hell did you manage to get a sloth mask so fast?” Eddie asks. Chim grins.

“Oh, I’ve had this for months, since Hen let it slip that Buck was afraid-”

“Not afraid!”

“-of sloths.”

“You bought a sloth mask months ago and you’ve just had it, like, in your locker this whole time?” Eddie asks.

“I was waiting for the right moment.”

“For  _ what? _ ” Buck cries.

“Figured I’d know when the moment came, and I was right,” Chim shrugs.

“I hate you all,” Buck gripes, stalking away.

“What’d I do?” Eddie calls after him, indignant.

“So Diaz,” Hen says, “You want in on this action?”

“This is incredibly immature and a little bit mean,” Eddie says, crossing his arms and attempting to look authoritative.

“So… yes?”

“Put me down for forty,” he sighs, and Hen grins. 

__

“Hey!” Buck cries, affronted, as Eddie swipes the water glass from his hand. The knife inside the glass clinks against the side and Eddie resists the urge to scream.

“What the actual fuck are you doing?” he says instead.

“Hernandez on swing shift says that dr- _ ick _ -inking a glass of water with a knife in it will cure me.”

Eddie sets the glass down out of Buck’s reach, pinching the bridge of his nose as he closes his eyes and draws on every ounce of patience he’s garnered in his 32 years of life. 

“You’re on  _ blood thinners _ ,  _ idiota _ ,” he hisses.

“Yeah well at least - _ ick _ \- if I bleed to death from a stab wound to the face the hi- _ ick _ -ccups will stop.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“It’s been  _ hours _ !” Buck whines, “and my - _ ick _ \- abs really hurt!”

He lifts his shirt and shows Eddie his abs, as if that proves anything at all other than how fucking ripped he is, and Eddie very carefully  _ does not look _ at the sharp V of his muscles where they dip below his waistband. 

“Give me the water back.”

“No.”

“You can t- _ ick _ -ake the knife, I just need the water. Peters told me about this thing where you put a - _ ick _ \- cloth over your face and drink through it.”

“That’s waterboarding, Buck. You’re literally describing waterboarding.”

“I’m already being tortured.”

“ _ Dios dame paciencia _ .”

“Oh poor Buckaroo,” Hen says, throwing an arm over his shoulders as she approaches, “you’re really suffering, aren’t you hun?”

“ _ Thank you _ , Hen, at least someo-AH GOD WHAT THE FUCK?”

Buck leaps forward like he’s been electrocuted, body arching as he flails at the back of his shirt. 

“Ice cold key down the back,” Hen says, wincing apologetically at him, “did it work?”

“I-” Buck stops and cocks his head, a hopeful smile forming on his face, “I think maybe i- _ ick _ !  _ FUCK. _ ” He throws his head back and groans. “WHY, GOD?”

“Ah well,” Hen sighs, “It was worth a try I guess. Um, can I have my key back please? It’s my mailbox key.”

Buck levels her with a glare that would make Eddie’s abuela proud.

“Give me just a mom- _ ick _ -ent to heat it up for you  _ in my ass crack _ , because that’s where it landed, you jerk.”

“Oh, ew,” Hen grimaces, backing away, “nevermind. I’ll just use Karen’s.”

“You’re a sadist!” Buck yells after her, “a disgrace to the profession of healing!”

“This is really driving you crazy, huh?” Eddie asks, doing his best not to laugh.

“You have  _ no idea _ ,” Buck moans pathetically, giving Eddie his best puppy dog eyes.

“Okay,” Eddie sighs, “I have something I can try. Old family recipe.”

“You’re my b- _ ick _ -est friend, man,” Buck exclaims, hugging him, “a saint. A true hero.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie says, patting him on the head, “don’t thank me yet, you haven’t tasted it.”

__

“You tried to  _ kill me _ ,” Buck wheezes, sloshing milk all over the counter as he frantically pours a glass, “For- _ ick _ -get every nice thing I said about you, you’re a monster just like the rest of them!”

“It’s not  _ that _ spicy,” Eddie insists.

“ _ I think I blacked out for a second, _ ” Buck hisses, gulping frantically at the milk. He’s bright red, sweating, and tears are forming in his eyes.

“Maybe I should have scaled it down to gringo levels,” Eddie admits apologetically.

“Maybe you should have just stuck a  _ knife in my back _ ,” Buck gasps, “what the  _ fuck _ is in that?”

“Tomato juice, habaneros-”

“Habaneros  _ plural?” _

“-a little Cholula hot sauce, some garlic…”

“It’s like drinking Satan’s piss, man.”

“I’m going to do you a favor and not tell abuela you said that,” Eddie says, thumping Buck on the back as he continues to sputter and choke, “it’s her mother’s recipe.”

“Still got the hiccups?” Bobby asks, starting to gather ingredients for dinner.

“Y- _ ick _ -es,” Buck hiccups, scowling, “and now I’ve got heartburn, too.”

“You tried the cow thing?”

“Yes! I’ve tried ev- _ ick _ -erything!”

“My college roommate swore by sticking your tongue out and pulling on it,” Bobby muses.

“You’re making that up,” Buck says suspiciously.

“Hand to God,” Bobby swears, and well, if Bobby is invoking God…

“Nothing to - _ ick- _ lose at this point,” Buck sighs, “and right now I think I wouldn’t mind pulling my tongue out of my - _ ick _ \- head just so it’d stop burning.”

“Here,” Bobby says, tossing him a clean paper towel, “use this to get a good grip.”

Buck sticks his tongue out and goes a little cross-eyed trying to look at it and fuck, it shouldn’t be as cute as it is but it’s  _ Buck _ so somehow it’s both adorable and kind of sexy.

He grabs his tongue with the paper towel and pulls, grimacing.

Chim chooses that moment to walk in, openly laughing at the sight. “Cat got your tongue, Buck? Or did you finally say the wrong thing to Bobby and lose talking privileges?”

“Thuck oo,” Buck says, flipping him off. 

“Language,” Bobby chastizes wearily.

“Give it a rest, Chim,” Eddie says. Buck shoots him a grateful look.

“What, Diaz, you run out of things to try? Afraid you’re gonna lose the bet?”

Buck’s grateful look turns betrayed. Eddie shrugs at him apologetically. “Sorry man, kids are expensive.”

“Thraitor,” Buck accuses. 

“Plus, I’ve still got something I can try, but I don’t know if Buck will like it,” Eddie admits. 

Chim is trying to surreptitiously take his phone out for a picture, and Buck hastily pulls his tongue back into his mouth to avoid being photographed. Unfortunately most of the paper towel goes with it, stuck to his tongue with saliva, and Chim ends up with a photo of Buck coughing out soggy bits of paper and cursing the world at large. 

“I’m gonna tell my s- _ ick _ -ister about the time you ate bad sushi and then shit yourself on a call!” Buck threatens, and Chim goes pale.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, I would.”

“ _ Boys _ ,” Bobby sighs.

Chim shoots Buck a final warning glare and before wandering off, and Buck sighs wearily.

“Do you r- _ ick _ -eally have something else you can try? And does it involve hot sauce?”

“I do, and it doesn’t, but I’m still not sure you’ll like the approach.”

“Please,” Buck begs, “I’ll do anything.  _ Anything, _ Eddie.”

_ Dios mio _ it’s not fair for Buck to utter those words to him, five feet from Bobby, in their place of employment, and with no idea that they go straight to Eddie’s dick.

“I’ll tell you what, if at the end of the shift you’ve still got them I’ll try, okay?”

“Swear to god if it works, I’ll kiss you on the mouth man.”

Okay, Buck has  _ got _ to be doing this shit on purpose. Jesus christ. 

“Promises, promises,” Eddie says, and Buck  _ winks _ at him, the little shit. 

__

The shift continues to be slow, and Buck continues to hiccup uncontrollably. It would be funny if he didn’t look so utterly miserable.

Eddie is witness to several more, increasingly desperate, attempts to cure him using various folk remedies. 

O’Donnell, on loan from the 143, insists that holding your breath and counting to one hundred works. Eddie barely manages to catch Buck when he gets lightheaded and almost falls face first onto the pool table, and forbids Buck from any more “cures” that involve depriving himself of oxygen. 

There’s a variety of suggestions regarding water - drink from the wrong side of the glass, drink from two straws, plug your nose and drink, but the only result is that Buck is very,  _ very _ , well hydrated, still hiccuping, and now bitching about how often he has to pee.

Several offered solutions involve food - eating a spoonful of sugar, mustard, powdered cocoa (Eddie thinks this one is flatly made up), sucking on a lemon wedge, and tucking raw garlic under his tongue. 

Buck is still hiccuping, and now also belching a lot. 

Hernandez the custodian swears by a Columbian remedy wherein you use the spit of a pregnant woman to wet a piece of red thread and then paste it to your forehead, but no one at the station is pregnant.

(Eddie is pretty sure that if Michaels and Burkett from day shift keep fucking like rabbits in the bunks then that might change, but as of now Buck’s out of luck.)

Athena suggests cracking Buck’s back when she stops by. Eddie is about to offer to do it when Athena just up and lifts Buck off his feet, leans back, and cracks his spine like a fucking glo-stick. Eddie supposes he shouldn’t be surprised that Athena can pick up a 6’3” 200 lb man with such ease. He silently underlines his mental note to not ever,  _ ever, _ fuck with Athena Grant lest she snap him like a twig.

Buck reports that his back feels amazing, but his hiccups remain. He’s becoming increasingly desperate, and Eddie must admit, it’s a little concerning that he’s had hiccups for going on eight hours now. 

They’re once again gathered in the lounge between mundane calls. Buck is draped melodramatically over an armchair, reduced to nothing but moaning theatrically and hiccuping. Hen has already disappeared to the bunks, and Chim is on the couch, googling hiccup remedies. Eddie is half-heartedly watching baseball on TV, mostly to distract himself from the long line of Buck’s throat as he drapes himself over the back of the chair.

“Hey Buck,” Chim says, “Did you know that a man named Charles Osborne had the hiccups for sixty-eight  _ years _ ?”

“Oh god, no,” Buck whimpers.

“Says here that other people have had hiccups for literally years or decades as well.”

“ _ St-ick-op, _ ” Buck pleads, “Have mercy on a dying man.”

“Maybe it’s a brain tumor,” Chim muses, “says here-”

“Maybe you should shut up for a while, Chim,” Eddie suggests. Buck tips his back to smile at Eddie upside down and shit, it’s endearing the way his lashes flutter like that. 

Chim stands up to leave “This is probably going to be a big letdown for you-”

“Title of your - _ ick-  _ sex tape!” Buck shouts.

“-but I actually have better things to do than hang with you losers. Also, Buck, I’m dating your sister, so if you want to make sex tape jokes-”

“Ugh,  _ no _ , gross!” Buck grimaces, waving a hand as if to shoo away the very idea.

“Title of  _ your _ sex tape!” Chim crows triumphantly, taking his leave.

Then it’s just Buck and Eddie, the station quiet and dim as the day winds down outside. 

“Eddie,” Buck pleads, sitting up and fixing him with a desperate look, “Please man - I don’t care what it is at this point, just - _ ick _ \- help me.”

Eddie looks around, confirms that they’re alone, and thinks  _ fuck it. _ They’ve been dancing around this thing between them for months (longer if he’s honest with himself). This might not be how he imagined this moment going, but since when has anything gone as expected for  _ either _ of them?

“You sure?” he asks, standing and moving in front of Buck. Buck looks up at him with hooded eyes as he steps closer, into Buck’s space.

“ _ Yes _ .”

“Okay, just remember that you can end this at any time, okay?”

“Uh, what exactly is  _ this _ ?”

“Well in addition to the family recipe, my abuela taught me that surprises are good for curing hiccups.” Eddie leans over the chair a little, hands braced on the arms, and Buck gulps, breath going a little shallow.

“Chim already tr- _ ick _ -ied that,” he says softly, still making no move to stop Eddie..

“Not scaring someone,  _ surprising  _ them. There’s a difference.”

Buck squints up at him. “How are you going to surprise me if you’re  _ telling  _ me that you’re going to surprise me?”

Eddie smirks. “Like this.”

He settles a knee on either side of Buck’s hips and hovers over his lap, moving his hands to Buck’s shoulder’s and shoving him back into the cushions. Buck’s eyes go comically wide and he licks his lips (and how does a man have lips that fucking  _ pink,  _ dear God).

“Wh-what are you doing?” he breathes, hands dropping hesitantly onto Eddie’s hips. 

“Surprising you,  _ idiota _ ,” Eddie says, sliding a hand around the back of Buck’s neck and pulling him forward into a searing kiss.

Buck whimpers, fingers clenching on Eddie’s hips, and opens his mouth to Eddie’s as he rocks his hips up. Eddie is a good kisser, knows how to use his tongue, and by the time he pulls away Buck is dazed and flushed.

“Oh,” Buck says, blinking.

“So?” Eddie asks, “How’re the hiccups?”

“What hiccups?” Buck mumbles, “who has hiccups?”

“You,  _ cariňo _ , you had hiccups.”

Buck blinks, waits for a moment, and smiles.

“Oh. Yeah. Not anymore. You cured me.”

Eddie smirks, satisfied with himself.

“But, you know,” Buck says, almost shyly, “maybe we should, like, make sure? Just in case.”

“Probably a good idea,” Eddie agrees, “maybe back at my place when our shift ends? Just so we can be… thorough.”

Buck nods enthusiastically, then pauses, eyes narrowing.

“Wait - you could have just kissed me better and you went with  _ poisoning _ me with hot sauce as your first choice? What the fuck, Eddie! I ate so much gross shit and drank so much water and I  _ spit on Bobby _ and the whole time making out like horny teenagers was on the table?”

Eddie shrugs, running his thumb over Buck’s bottom lip. “I’ll make it up to you,” he promises, “I just won about $145 by curing your hiccups. I’ll take you out for a nice dinner before I take you home and put  _ you _ on the table. Or over it.”

“Yeah, okay,” Buck gasps, “I-I think I can probably forgive you. Eventually.”

__

  
Eddie wins the bet for curing Buck’s hiccups, but Hen wins a  _ significantly  _ larger pool for having accurately predicted the week that Eddie and Buck finally get their shit together and resolve all that unresolved sexual tension.


End file.
